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The cattleman's eyes took on their stony, snake-like look. His hand did not move by so much as an inch toward the scabbarded revolver at his side. "All right. Come a-shooting. I see you've got a gun under that pillow." The weapon leaped into sight. "You're right I have! I'll drill you full of holes as soon as wink." Weaver laughed contemptuously. "Begin pumping, son."

The cattleman's clear grey eyes looked steadily from under his grizzly brows into the huckleberry optics of his guest. After a little he said simply, and not ungraciously, "I'll be much obliged to you, son, if you won't mention money any more. Once was quite a plenty. Folks I ask to my ranch don't have to pay anything, and they very scarcely ever offers it. Supper'll be ready in half an hour.

The cattleman's face fell as he caught the drift of this complication. That ten thousand dollars represented only a small part of the value of his property was true, but many another man had sold property for less than it was worth.

The old cattleman's high-crowned sombrero was pinched to a peak; the wind of his galloping gait had pressed its broad brim back from his tough old weathered face. His white mustache and little dab of pointed beard seemed whiter against the darkness of passion which mounted to his scowling eyes.

The pieces he thrust into his pocket in order that at the completion of the work he could thus check the Cattleman's tally-board as to the number of calves branded. The bull-dogger let go. The calf sprang up, was appropriated and smelled over by his worried mother, and the two departed into the herd to talk it over.

She stooped, a little sound in her throat between a sob and a cry, jerked one of the guns out, wheeled upon Chadron and fired. The lieutenant struck up her arm in time to save the cattleman's life. The blow sent the pistol whirling out of her hand. "They will go off that way, sometimes," said the young officer, with apology in his soft voice.

Death; and the Donna Anna. "Locoweed? Do I savey loco?" The Old Cattleman's face offered full hint of his amazement as he repeated in the idiom of his day and kind the substance of my interrogatory. "Why, son," he continued, "every longhorn who's ever cinched a Colorado saddle, or roped a steer, is plumb aware of locoweed. Loco is Mexicano for mad crazy.

"No," she answered reluctantly. Weaver wheeled on Keller, his eyes hard as jade. "That ties the rope round your neck, my man." "No," Phyllis cried. "He didn't do it." The cattleman's stone wall eyes were on her now. "Didn't? How do you know he didn't?" "Because I I passed him here as I rode up a few minutes ago." "So you rode up a few minutes ago." Buck's lids narrowed. "And he was here, was he?

Some one dived for Lindsay and drove him against the wall, pinning him by the waist. A second figure joined the first and caught the cattleman's wrist. Then the lights flashed on again. Clay saw that the man who had flung him against the partition was Gorilla Dave. A plain-clothes man with a star had twisted his wrist and was clinging to it.

"Are you in this, Bucky?" asked Cullison evenly. "You're right I am. He's my prisoner." "What for?" "For robbing the W. & S." Luck's face lit. "Have you evidence enough to cinch him?" "Not enough yet. But I'll take no chances on his getting away." The cattleman's countenance reflected his thoughts as his decision hung in the balance. He longed to pay his debt on the spot.